Sticks and Stones
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: Words can never be unsaid. Choices can never be undone. And forgiveness is never as easy as saying sorry. *deliberately vague because of season ten finale spoilers, trigger warning for attempted suicide, hurt!Sam, guilty!Dean, post 10x23 spoilers, AU season 11*
1. For You, Here's What I'll Do

_**Author's Note: Spoilers for the season ten finale!**_ _Do not read if you have not seen! Okay, everyone good? So, I'm not even going to try to deal with that huge cliffhanger. Honestly, I need a few days to process that one, but this idea immediately sprang into my head. Pretend like the boys got away from the darkness and made it back to the bunker. So, I guess this will be AU by the time season 11 comes on?_ _ **Trigger warning for attempted suicide. Do not read if that bothers you in any way.**_

* * *

" _Your eyes, they shine so bright_

 _I want to save their light_

 _I can't escape this now_

 _Unless you show me how."_

 _Jasmine Thompson, "Demons"_

* * *

Sam Winchester is a fool.

The bunker is eerily silent now, save for the gentle tick tock of the grandfather clock that sits in the library. The noise doesn't reassure him though. If anything, it just highlights how quiet it is now. There's not one other living soul in this bunker, save for him. He's alone once more—like when Dean went to Hell, like when Dean went to Purgatory, like all those other horrible times—and Sam should've seen this coming.

 _Dean, this is good._

He's a completely idiotic, moronic fool. When has the universe ever given them a break? When have they ever been able to have things work out for the best? Sam should've seen this coming a mile away, should've known that things would be screwed up.

But, he'd been foolish and allowed himself to hope.

And now look at what had happened.

 _The Mark is off your arm._

The tables in the library are still covered with various books, scrolls and ancient texts all concerning information about the Mark. They are piled on top of each other, stacked high until it seems like they could nearly touch the ceiling. They're useless now. He'll have to put them away soon.

 _You get your baby back._

From the huge window in the library, he lets his gaze drift to the Impala, parked once more on the street. She's dented and dirty and he's pretty sure her back tire is flat after being caught in that ditch, but with a few days of repair, she'd be back to new soon. It's the least he can do; after all, she did save them once more.

 _Nothing crazy happened._

"Fuck." He whispers, running a hand through his hair. He hasn't slept in three days. His eyes are burning and bloodshot. His body feels disconnected from his brain and he doesn't know how much longer he can keep this up. Castiel is unresponsive. Crowley is missing. Rowena is out there, doing who the Hell knows what with her newfound powers and Dean—

Dean is gone too.

He just vanished, like the morning mist. One second he's in the driver's seat talking about the darkness and then the next . . . poof. He's just gone, like he'd never even been there in the first place.

 _You knew that this world would be better without us in it._

Sam supposes it's fitting after all. Maybe the universe doesn't take too kindly to the same two men causing problem after problem. Maybe it had heard Dean's words and taken him. After all, the youngest Winchester had tried searching everywhere else—Hell had no clue where Dean was, Purgatory seemed to be locked up shut and Heaven was unresponsive.

So, here Sam is once more, alone and desperate. He's got no leads on Dean, no way to save his brother. There's nothing he can do and he can't move on, like he did with Amelia.

He's so damn tired.

 _I know what I am, Sam. But who were you when you drove that man to sell his soul? Or when you bullied Charlie into getting killed? And to what end? A good end? A just end?_

"Stop." He whispers, pressing his fingers into his temples.

He can't keep listening to these words. He can't keep hearing them echoing in the bunker, screaming in his mind. He's lost everything—again—and if he can't have Dean back, if he can't find a way to fix this with his brother, then . . .

 _Sam, how is that not evil?_

Then, maybe it would be best if he did leave this world.

When Dean had been about to swing that scythe, a part of Sam had been a little bit relieved. True, most of him hadn't wanted to die—his selfish side, he concedes—and he knew that Dean would one day snap out of it and when that day came, his older brother would never forgive himself, but . . .

But part of Sam had been relieved that the fight was over.

There are only so many times that you can get knocked down before you decide to not get up anymore. Perhaps, he's reached his limit. Perhaps, he should just end it all. There's no one else left for him to protect, no else to mourn for him. Castiel would carry on, somehow. Crowley would probably throw a party. And Dean?

Well, Dean would get what he wanted, right?

 _It's for the greater good. Once you consider that, this makes all the sense in the world._

The weight of the gun is familiar and as he turns it over, he smiles fondly. This gun has been with him for so many years—his father had given it to him—and though Sam never thought he would treasure those memories of cross country drives and early morning hunts. But, now, looking back on it all, those memories are all he has left. And once he left this world, no one would know of them.

No one would know that there used to be a happy family. In this family was A mother, who loved her children more than life herself but it was her secrets that would start their troubles. There was a father, who adored her and dedicated himself to avenging her, eventually dying in the process. There had been two boys in that family too—two brothers, who loved each other because they were all they had.

And then that family was destroyed, broken beyond repair, shattered like glass into a thousand pieces.

Sam is all that is left.

"I just can't." He sighs, voice cracking.

 _Close your eyes._

He presses the gun to his temple, relishing the cool metal touching his skin. He shuts his eyes, breathes his last breath.

 _Close your eyes, Sammy._

He pulls the trigger as a gust of wind blows through his hair.

* * *

His first thought as he comes to is that dying hurts.

It burns actually, more so than he anticipated and that in itself should offer some sort of clue, but he's tired and his body is heavy and he wants nothing more than to drift away.

"Fuck." He moans as awareness slowly comes back to him. His shoulder is on fire and when he tries to move it, it stings like corrosive acid. "What the . . . ?" He opens his eyes and stares upward at the bunker's ceiling.

He's alive.

"Sammy?"

"Dean?" Sam wheezes, blinking a few times and suddenly, Dean comes into view. His brother is kneeling above him, eyes red-rimmed.

"Jesus Christ, Sammy." He swears, voice cracking as a lone tear rolls down his cheek. "What did you do?"

Sam blinks, trying to process what exactly is going on here. He should be dead. He aimed the gun at his head. His brain matter should be staining the cream walls a shade of pink right now. There is no way he should be alive. Yet, here he is and now, Dean is back.

"Sam, look at me!" Dean barks, voice so much like John's. Dean had always been good at giving orders like their father. Figures, the older brother had always idolized their father. It figured that he would've picked up on some of John's mannerisms.

"You need to get up!" Dean tries again, his hands hovering above Sam's gushing gun shot wound. "I can't help you anymore, Sam, I'm sorry."

"Help?" Sam echoes, voice slurring as his eyes slip shut. "What . . . ?"

"Sam, c'mon!" Dean growls and that elicits an automatic response from the younger brother.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Sam's eyes open once more.

"There you go," Dean grins, unabashed pride. "You're doing great, Sam." His

brother's praises are odd to say the least, but the youngest Winchester tries to focus on their positivity. It's been too long since he did something right for Dean.

"D'n." Sam slurs, trying to push himself up. His shoulder burns and he hisses in pain as he falls back. Panting, he turns his head and sees the moderate puddle of blood. "My blood . . ."

It's too much blood. He's going into shock. The oxygen around him is becoming scarce and he can feel his heart hammering out of sync in his chest.

"Listen to me," Dean urges, forcing a smile on his lips. "You can do this. You just need to get up, okay, Sammy?"

Getting up is something that he knows will hurt and as such, he isn't too inclined to agree to that option at the moment.

"D'n . . . y're here?" He meets the wide-eyed gaze of his older brother and grins. "Thought you were . . . lost?"

"I'm here, Sammy, okay?" Dean assures him and he reaches for Sam's hand, only for it to pass through.

Sam sucks in a breath, then begins to cough.

"Easy!" Dean coaches. "Look, it's going to be okay, Sammy."

"Y're dead?" Sam whispers, his head rolling to the side, seemingly of its own accord. "I can't—"

"I'm not dead." Dean interjects quickly. "But listen to me, the Reapers they're pretty pissed that I took out their boss and they've got me in this weird side dimension thing."

There are too many complicated words for Sam's distressed brain to even bother decoding, so he settles for a raised eyebrow instead.

"I can see you, but I can't help you." Then, darkly, he adds, "You can only hear me now because you're about to die."

 _Well, you sure as hell were ready to die for the greater good then._

 _Yeah, and Dean, you pulled me back._

 _And I was wrong._

"You said . . ." He exhales a shaky breath, the room spinning around him. "You said I should die."

"Sammy," Dean's voice is barely holding together from complete sobs now. His expression is pained, wanting to be able to help his baby brother, but being unable to do so. His hand wavers above Sam's bleeding shoulder and he grimaces. "Listen to me, you can't die now."

"You . . ." Sam struggles to summon the breath enough to say the words. "You wanted me dead."

Dean blanches at that and quickly adds, "Sammy, I didn't—"

"I can't, Dean." The younger brother whispers, surprised by his ability to even talk now. The burning is starting to fade and his eyelids are drooping.

"Sam, stay with me!" A tear hits Sam's cheek and Dean is now gripping Sam's wrist, though his skin is still translucent. "I saw you before. I saw you when you were going to blow your brains out." He spits those words out, like they are the worst words in existence. "If I wanted to, I could've let you do it." Dean's crying now, openly sobbing and some part of Sam recognizes the sincerity of this. "But I didn't want you to. What I said—I was wrong." Dean's pressure on his brother's wrist increases. "Don't die, Sammy."

The gust of wind that seemingly came from nowhere—that had been Dean?

It takes a small eternity, but Sam forces himself to a sitting position.

"There you go, Sammy." Dean praises. "Just get to the phone, okay?"

Getting himself to stand up might be the most challenging thing he's ever done but Sam does it and soon, he has 911 on the phone. An operator promises that an ambulance is on its way and Sam lays back down on the ground, Dean still hovering above him.

"How can you . . ." He swallows the taste of copper back—internal bleeding, he remembers. "How can you get out?"

Dean swears under his breath and then adds, "Don't worry about me, Sammy. Focus on you."

Sam decides at the moment, he can do that.

Then, he promptly faints.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _This will be a two-shot. There is still so much I want to deal with. Next chapter will have Sam in the hospital and more worried Dean and definitely, the heart to heart we all wanted this season. I hope you enjoyed. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


	2. Here's to Taking Chances

_**Author's Note: Spoilers for the season ten finale!**_ _Do not read if you have not seen! Wow, thank you guys so much for the enthusiastic response to this piece! While season ten was not my favorite for a lot of reasons, I'm happy to be able to help others get what they want from it! But, before it gets better, it's going to get darker. I promise there will be a happy ending though! Please enjoy!_

* * *

" _Nothing to lose but everything to gain_

 _Reflecting now on how things could've been_

 _It was worth it in the end."_

— _Daughtry, "September"_

* * *

The first thing he becomes aware of is the beeping of machines and the familiar smell of harsh antibacterial products filling the air. Footsteps from the hall—quick and steady—also filter in and it doesn't take him too long to realize where he is.

"Mr. Hagar?" A soft voice inquires above him. "Can you open your eyes for me?"

It feels like there are two sandbags weighing down his eyes, but after a few minutes of struggling, he opens his eyes. Blinking a few times, his vision clears and he is rewarded by the dazzling smile of the young nurse. Perky, blond and buxomly with cerulean blue eyes, she'd be the perfect girl for Dean to—

"Dean!" He calls out, trying to move to be able to see the full hospital room.

"Mr. Hager, please take it easy!" The nurse snaps, placing her gloved hands on his chest and applying pressure to hold him. Under normal circumstances, it would've never worked, but he's tired and his shoulder still aches dully, so he relents.

"What happened?" His voice is dry and as rough as sandpaper.

"You had surgery on your shoulder." She states quietly, handing him a glass of ice water and a straw. Slowly, with much effort to try and overcome his drug-induced fog, he is able to get a sip. The cool water feels heavenly as it slides down his throat.

Putting the water aside after a moment, he meets her gaze and says, "I would like to be discharged now."

She blanches, eyes comically wide and mouth hanging open. She flusters and nearly screams, "But Mr. Hagar! You are in no condition to leave—"

"I know the risks," He informs her softly. "I'm signing out AMA though."

"But . . ." Her voice fades away, words becoming a sigh as she must see the determined glint his eyes. She folds her arms across her chest and narrows her gaze. "Fine. It's your life." Then, moving towards the doorway, she turns back, "I'll bring you the paperwork in a few hours."

He nods and she vanishes down the hall.

"Dean?" He glances around the room, wincing at the burn in his shoulder as he jars it, but he can't see his brother. "Dean, if you're here, you've got to—" There's a gust of wind, ruffling the blinds, though the window is closed and Sam sighs, relieved. "Listen, I'm going to figure this all out once I get back to the bunker." He pulls out the IV, wincing at the needle ripping from his skin. Then, he takes off the oxygen. His shoulder is heavily bandaged, but he can't walk out unnoticed with it like this. He's got plenty of gauze and hospital grade medicine back at the bunker so one car ride won't cause too much damage. Gritting his teeth, he pulls off the bandage and hisses through clenched teeth as the wound is exposed to air. It stings and his skin is puckered and red, but not infected. Still, it's going to hurt badly to drive like this.

"Sammy, you shouldn't." Dean's faint voice filters in, though Sam can't see him yet.

"I've got to get out of here and get you back." Sam replies, changing into his clothes that someone had put next to his bed. His shirt is pretty much ruined, but it'll have to do.

"Sam—" Dean protests, but the youngest Winchester has made up his mind.

He's sneaked out of tons of hospitals before; this one will be no different. Even if he dies trying, he will figure out someway to fix things. What Dean said, what they both did—there has to be someway to fix it.

"Okay." Sam murmurs. "Let's do this."

* * *

He actually escapes from the hospital pretty easily.

All he had to do was act like he belonged and no one even looked twice. Stealing a car is second nature to him and soon enough, he's ditched the car and is walking up the steps to the bunker. Coming back home, he grimaces as the door shuts behind him. His shoulder is on fire and the medication from the hospital must've worn off by now.

"Damn." He curses, leaning against the wall, trying to catch his breath. The room is spinning and his head is pounding. The nurse was right; he shouldn't have tried to leave, but what was he supposed to do? Who knows how long Dean will be stuck in pocket dimension before the Reapers decide to finish him off? He killed Death! There is no way the Reapers would let that stand. Once they regrouped, they would go after Dean and they would kill him.

Sam can't allow that to happen.

"Easy." Dean's before him now, not exactly an encouraging sign. "Just breathe, Sammy, okay?"

"M'fine." Sam chokes out only for his older brother to scoff and shake his head.

"Sure you are." He murmurs. "That's why you can see me right now."

"I'm not . . ." He sucks a breath in and forces himself to straighten. "I'm not dying." He takes a few shaky steps towards the library, Dean trailing behind him.

"Sam, look, you need to take care of yourself first, okay?" It's odd to hear his big brother sound so concern. It's been months since Sam has heard that that worried tone in his voice. The past few months, all they'd been doing was fighting, lying and hiding things from each other.

And look where that has gotten them—Death is dead, there's an enormous dark force out there somewhere, Castiel and Crowley are MIA and Dean is locked in a side dimension.

No, he's not going to do this anymore.

"There are too many problems that we need to deal with." He snaps at Dean, practically collapsing in one of the chairs in the library. He doesn't even know where to begin with his research or what book to start leafing through.

"Sam, in case you haven't realized, you're barely hanging on here." Dean hovers above him, his hands clenched into fists. He wants to reach out and help, but he can't. Not until Sam is closer to death, which is kind of ironic, if Sam thinks about it. Guess Reapers did have a sense of humor after all.

"I'm fine." He enunciates, finally grabbing for a book with his good arm. "Besides, the Reapers won't keep you there forever." He meets his brother's dark gaze. "If they come back, they'll kill you."

He begins to flip through a few pages, but the words blur together until it's a swirling ball of text. He pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to focus. Dean needs his help. Dean doesn't have much time. Dean—

 _You traded my life._

"Sam?" Dean questions softly and suddenly, this room is too confining. The walls are slowly closing in on him and he can barely breathe; the oxygen is that scarce.

"You wanted me to die." Sam chokes out and the admission hurts more than his shoulder, more than anything he could've possibly imagined. His brother—the one who sold his own soul to save Sam—had been ready to kill him in that moment. And maybe the Mark influenced his decision, but in his eyes—those cold, unfeeling eyes—Sam had seen a man that had given up.

"Sam." Dean tries to start, but the youngest Winchester has had enough.

 _This isn't you. This doesn't make any sense._

 _No, it makes perfect sense if you stop thinking about yourself for one damn minute!_

Shakily, he stands up from the table and faces his brother. His lungs are burning and the room is spinning, but he forces himself to remain upright, to hang in there, just a little bit longer.

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?" Dean echoes, his form still translucent.

Sam's close to dying, but not as close as he was before. It's like a seesaw. He has to maintain this kind of condition in order to see Dean, but tip too far to either side and he's screwed.

"Making the deal." Sam completes quietly.

There's silence after that as Dean processes the question. He hadn't been expecting that, judging by his wide eyes. Still, Sam knows he's formulating a response. Whether it's one that Sam wants to hear or not, remains to be seen.

"I don't." His older brother finally responds. "I will never regret saving you, Sammy."

 _It's time we put a proper name to what we really are and we deal with it._

"What I said earlier," Dean begins, eyes locked on his little brother's, voice plaintive. "I didn't mean it. It was the Mark and I was just so damn tired of fighting." He steps closer to his brother, translucent hand coming to rest on Sam's non-injured shoulder.

 _I know what I am, Sam._

"You blame me, Dean, and I . . ." He chuckles darkly. "I don't know why we should keep doing this." He gestures to his bloodied and bruised shoulder. "I was ready to die, just like you wanted and you saved me. In six months, are you going to somehow change your mind and wish that I was dead?"

Dean begins to shake his head, and if he could, Sam is sure that Dean's grip would be increasing right now.

"You just have to believe me, Sam." Dean pleads. "I messed up, okay? We both made some fucked up choices, but this—" He gestures to the door, to the world outside this room. "None of this matters if you aren't around."

 _Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you!_

Had it really been only two years since that fateful night in the church? Sam had been so sure of his choice that night, but what if he'd been wrong? Maybe he should've finished the third trial. At least Hell would be closed. The Darkness wouldn't be out now. He should've died that night—

"Sam, look at me." Dean commands and his brother's face is only a few inches away from his own. "I know, what I said, it's unforgivable and I'm going to spend every day of my life trying to prove to you I was wrong, but right now, Sammy, I need you to stay alive." He flashes a rare grin that reminds Sam of carefree days gone by. "Take some medicine, get some rest, okay? We'll figure this out."

There isn't really anything new about this speech, nothing to distinguish it from the others Sam has heard in his life, but in Dean's eyes, there's a spark of hope that Sam had thought long extinguished.

The problems between them are not over, not by a long shot, but maybe for right now, just for this moment, Sam can believe in him once more.

"Okay." He whispers. "Just for a bit."

He will save his brother and then, the two of them would finally figure out how to salvage their relationship.

But first, he needs to rest.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _I lied. I have no idea how many chapters this will be. The muse sort of just took over. I guess I have a lot of unresolved angst from season ten that I need to fix. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


	3. Help You, Help Me

_**Author's Note: Spoilers for the season ten finale!**_ _Do not read if you have not seen! My muse has decreed that I shall continue to write this until I fix things, which if you've read any of my previous stories, means lots of angst followed by brother hugs and happy endings! How many chapters it will take to get there, who knows? But I hope you'll stick with me! Also, in this chapter, Sam forcibly causes himself pain in order to save Dean. I'm not sure if that's what would be considered self-harm, but I'm warning for it regardless._ _ **Trigger warning for self-harm. If that bothers you, do not read.**_

* * *

" _And all those things I didn't say_

 _Wrecking balls inside my brain_

 _I will scream them loud tonight_

 _Can you hear my voice this time?"_

— _Rachel Platten, "Fight Song"_

* * *

The bunker is silent when he awakens.

Nighttime has descended on the outside world. An owl hoots, loud and shrill and Sam grimaces as the sound irritates his already throbbing brain. As he pushes himself up from his bed, he's pleased to feel that the heavy-duty painkillers have numbed his shoulder enough that he can move easily. The skin from the bullet wound though is red and puckered—infection must be setting in—which is great, considering all the other problems he still has to deal with.

"Dean?"

There's no response from his brother, which is good in terms of where Sam's health is, but not exactly useful at the moment. If the youngest Winchester is going to free his brother from whatever pocket dimension the Reapers have him in, he'll need all the details he can get from Dean.

"Dean, if you're there, you need to . . ."

The chair in his bedroom is knocked over. One of its legs is snapped off, the wooden material splintered all over the floor. It's almost as if it had been broken in some sort of struggle, which would mean that—

"Dean?"

Again, no response and Sam's stomach plummets. He never should've fallen asleep. He should've been working to free Dean and now, if something bad has happened to his brother, it'll be his fault.

Sam can't have any more guilt resting on his shoulders.

He takes a few breaths, trying to steady his pounding heart and racing mind. He can't assume that something bad has happened to Dean or it'll consume him. No, he'll do what he does best and start researching and figure out how to solve the problem.

"Hang on, Dean." He murmurs, glancing at the chair. "Just wait for me."

Time to get to work.

* * *

The sheer volume of lore about side dimensions and pocket dimensions is enormous. There is tome upon tome of definitions, instructions on how to send someone to one, as well as cautious warnings against opening one, lest they cause a vortex that cannot be shut.

None of it, though, is really helpful. There are no guidelines on how to rescue someone. There are multiple warnings against attempting to do that, but not one text seems to be able to explain how to free someone from one.

Which leaves Sam stuck as square one.

"Dean!" He calls, voice starting to tinge with desperation.

There is still no response.

"Dammit." Sam rises from the chair, slamming one of the books shut. His shoulder burns and for a moment, there is a flash. In the brief flash, the youngest Winchesters can see Dean's limp form, a small pool of blood staining the front of Dean's shirt. "Dean!"

Once the burning in his shoulder stops, Dean fades from view and Sam is left alone in the room. His big brother is hurt and he needs medical attention. The pool of blood hadn't been big enough to cause too much alarm, but the fact that Dean was just lying there, barely breathing.

Sam has to act, has to save him.

At any and all costs.

 _You can only see me because you're about to die._

The realization hits Sam then, like a lighting bolt pushing electricity through his blood. He has to see Dean to help him and if he can get himself to that point where the walls between Dean's dimension and his own are down, then he can try to pull Dean out and over.

It's risky, but he can't afford to waste anymore time.

Moving to the kitchen, he grabs a knife and cuts off the sleeve that his injury is under. Pulling off the bandage, he grits his teeth as he takes in the sight of the puckered, red wound. There's no doubt if he does this the wound will get infected. It'll get worse—high fever, pain, chills—and he does not know how much time he'll have once he cuts the stiches out and lets the wound bleed again. It could be seconds; it could be minutes. He'll have to be careful.

He just needs enough time to save Dean.

He takes the knife and moves back to his bedroom and stands right above where Dean should be. Sucking in a breath, he plunges the knife under the stiches, ripping them out. It's like fire, the way it burns as he tears the stiches out. Warm blood immediately begins to spill and as he drops the knife, he tries to keep himself steady and upright. He focuses his breathing, tries to push past the pain and just hang in there long enough to help Dean.

Dean suddenly materializes on the floor and immediately, Sam kneels down next to him.

"Dean!"

His brother doesn't so much as move or respond and the youngest Winchester frowns. He places a hand on Dean's wrist, only for his own to pass right through. He's not close enough to death—not like before when Dean had been able to touch him—so he waits a few more minutes, until the blood loss starts to make his head dizzy before trying once more.

Dean's hand is still warm under his and Sam sighs raggedly, happy that his big brother is still alive and that they still have a chance.

"Hold on." Sam mumbles, the room starting to spin around him. He tugs at Dean's wrists—jarring his shoulder further, causing a white-hot flash of sheer pain that forces all the breath out of his lungs and causes him to drop to his knees.

They're running out of time.

Ignoring the way the room is still spinning, pushing past the pain, he grabs both of Dean's wrist within his own hands and pulls him towards his bed, away from the broken walls of the side dimension. He can see the faint outlines of the walls—glowing faintly on the floor, like spilled glitter—and once Dean is safely outside, Sam checks his brother over for any injuries.

There's a small cut on his head from what must've been a hit to the head, but his brother is breathing deep and evenly. Aside from a shallow cut on his side, the blood flow isn't too serious. Ripping off some pieces of his shirt, Sam is able to fashion a bandage of sorts, tying it to apply pressure.

"Dean, can you hear me?" Sam slurs, his own eyes drooping.

The adrenaline wears off almost instantly after that and Sam falls to the floor. He's going to die here—that much he knows for sure—but at least Dean is safe. Sure, there were so many things he had wanted to talk with his brother about, but at least he could somewhat atone for letting the Darkness in by saving Dean.

Dean would go on without him—just like all those times before.

As eyes fall shut, he can't help but wonder where he'll go now. Back to Hell? Back to the Cage with Lucifer? That probably would be fitting now since he doomed the world—again—and left Dean to carry on and find the solution.

If Sam had his choice, he wouldn't die right now. He would somehow survive this and go on to save the world. He and Dean would finally make things right between them.

But Sam doesn't have a choice.

The only one nice thing about this is he can die knowing Dean is free and safe.

He supposes that will have to be good enough.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _Yep, still got a lot of angst. I promise, there will be a happy ending! Just hang in there with me until then. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


	4. Deal or No Deal

_**Author's Note: Spoilers for the season ten finale!**_ _Do not read if you have not seen! Are you guys still with me or did the angst all do you in? There will be a happy ending in the end! But, for the foreseeable future, there will be more angst as the boys deal with their issues._

* * *

" _You're gone, gone, gone away_

 _I watched you disappear_

 _All that's left is the ghost of you."_

— _Of Monsters and Men, "Little Talks"_

* * *

"Why am I not surprised that you two are responsible for this?"

Sam moans as he comes to, blinking. His shoulder burns as he attempts to move it, the sticky blood coating his shirt, making it crack as he shifts he weight.

"I mean, let's take a look at your track record, shall we?" The feminine voice continues, bitterness dripping off each word. "You two started the Apocalypse, failed to lock Hell—locked Heaven though, casting all of the angels out." The woman kneels before him, her platinum blonde hair resting upon her shoulders. Her emerald eyes glint in the light of the sole lamp on in the room and she her pale hand reaches out and touches his blood. Her fingertips are crimson when she pulls her hand back and she smirks, a dark chuckle falling from her lips.

"Who—?" He doesn't manage to say much more though as a cough tears through him, oxygen leaving his lungs like a bag being deflated.

"Then," The woman continues, counting off the sins on her fingers. "There was the fact you killed my boss and chose to let the Darkness in." She turns back to face him, a frown gracing her peach lips. "I'm sure I'm forgetting something else, so feel free to interject."

"Dean?" He can see his brother's limp form next to him. He's alive, judging by the rise and fall of his chest, but that doesn't mean he doesn't need medical attention. The head injury might need his attention though, especially if he was hit with enough force. He could have a concussion or—

"Look at me, Sam." The woman snaps her fingers and he glances back at her, annoyed that she's still here and hasn't realized that Dean needs him. "You and Dean, you've really screwed up now." Her gaze narrows. "You killed my boss."

Something clicks in him, pierces through the fog of blood loss and pain.

"You're a reaper." He concludes and she nods.

"There's that Stanford education at work." She winks at him, titling her head ever so slightly to the side. "How's that blood loss going?" She leans in a bit. "Feeling woozy? Having a hard time focusing?"

"What do you want?" He forces the syllables to come out sharp and clear, even though all he wants is to is give into the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness.

"Do you want to know what happens when Death dies?" The reaper questions instead. "The world stops. All those people out there who are supposed to die, they don't." She grimaces. "You wanna know why?" She doesn't wait for him to respond, just plows on with her sentence, the words colliding. "Because without Death, we don't know who to reap. He's the ringleader, you understand?" She leans back, shaking her head. "Sure, if I happen to come across someone on the brink of death. Someone like you, perhaps." She snaps her fingers and Sam gasps, pain flaring in his chest. "I could take your soul, Sam. Right now, right here." She snaps once more and the pain disappears. "But I won't."

"Stop—" He attempts to growl, though his voice barely above a whisper.

"Death is gone and the reapers are scattered." She places a hand on his chest; his heartbeat beginning to pound irregularly under her touch. "And you two, once again, are to blame." She rises from her kneeling position and moves towards the books on the table, chuckling almost hysterically. Spinning back around, she shouts, "Do you have any idea what you've done? There's a reason the Mark of Cain exists! There's a reason why the Darkness is never supposed to enter this realm again!"

"We didn't—" Sam starts to protest only for her to interject,

"You two didn't do a lot of things, Sam." She sighs. "And now it's time to make amends."

From the floor, Dean stirs, groaning as he pushes himself up. Rubbing his temples, he grimaces.

"Fuck," He sighs. "My head is—"

"Welcome to the party." She flashes a grin that quickly fades from view.

"Sam?" Dean immediately whips his head around to check on Sam and seeing the dried blood, his eyes widen. "Shit, Sammy. Your stiches—"

"I ripped them out," The youngest Winchester confesses. "It was the only way to get you out of the pocket dimension."

Dean shakes his head, swearing under his breath and then adds, "We've got to get your fixed up. You're bleeding like a stuck pig—"

"Yes, let's all worry about Sam!" The reaper exclaims, wildly throwing her hands out. "This is the problem with you damn Winchesters. You put each other first and never mind the rest of the world or what happens to it." She saunters over and glares at them. "Well, enough is enough. I'm here to set things right."

"And who the hell are you lady?" Dean retorts, instinctively moving himself closer to Sam, positioning his body to block the front of Sam's.

"Me?" She echoes. "I'm unemployed, thanks to you." She jabs a finger in Dean's direction.

"You're a reaper." Dean concludes.

"Smart guy." She claps slowly. "Let's see if you can figure out what I want."

"To kill us, probably." His older brother hisses while he tries to apply pressure to Sam's slow bleeding wound. He rips a piece of the bottom of shirt and wraps it tightly around his brother's shoulder, wincing when he hears Sam's sharp intake of breath. "Easy, Sammy, easy."

"Dean Winchester," The reaper begins, tone shifting to distant and formal. "You killed Death. Therefore, you must take his place."

"Like hell I will." Dean retorts, sparing her only a moment's glance before he once more refocuses on Sam.

"You don't understand." She shakes her head, sighing. "This isn't optional." She kneels down, folding her arms across her chest. "Here's what I don't get though. You killed Death and for what? To save your brother?" She rolls her eyes. "The same brother you tried to kill just moments earlier?"

"Shut up!" Dean snaps and she laughs softly under her breath.

"Like it or not Dean, you're Death." She informs him yet again. "You became Death the moment you killed him." She leans in, voice barely above a whisper. "That's how it works after all."

"Lady, you better back the fuck off before I—"

"Here's the deal." The reaper begins, her eyes locked on Dean. "You come with me, you take your place and fix this mess and in return, Sam gets a free pass. I'll fix his injuries myself."

"Dean, no—" Sam protests, words slurred and face drawn.

"You say no, I'll still take you, but Sam's going to die." She smirks. "Your choice."

"Sammy." Dean whispers and Sam knows that look in his eyes. It's the same torn, pained glint that entered his eyes the moment before he told Sam about the deal. "Sam, I—"

"No." Sam interjects, placing his hand on top of his brother's.

"You got a deal." Dean whispers. "Now, heal him."

"Wise choice." The reaper mutters.

"Sammy, I'm sorry." His older brother says, voice cracking. "I got us into this mess." He manages a rare smile as a single tear rolls down his cheek.

"Dean, please—" Sam's vision begins to blur but whether that is due to blood loss or his own tears, he can't tell.

"Sam, you've saved me who knows how many times," He squeezes Sam's hand tightly. "Let me save you."

"As touching as this all this, we've got places to go." She places a cool hand on Sam's forehead. "This will hurt."

It feels like pure electricity surging through his veins and his body begins to seize as the world spins around him. He becomes aware of every cut, every bruise in his body and it's like his soul is fighting to break free only for his body to entrap it further.

And then, it's over. He's alone and healed, listening to that same old tick-tock of the grandfather clock. He's sore and it feels like he's been a few rounds with a semi-truck, but he'll live.

"Dean?" His voice echoes off the walls.

He's well and truly alone now.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ _This is officially a season ten AU story as I'm sure the events I'm doing will not be in season 11. I hope you'll stick with me as we ride this angst-ridden roller coaster! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!_


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